How should one resist, if resistance is required?
Warren Wang does not know.
The other four men do not know either.
For the gap between Martial Lord and Martial General is as vast as heaven and earth. A Demon at full strength in the Martial Lord Realm can easily slaughter a hundred Martial Generals.
But.
No matter how strong it is—what does it matter?
This defense formation, forged over decades, must remain impregnable—unyielding against all threats, sworn to protect the land of Sinovera.
Buzz. Buzz.
The helicopter continued southward, neither changing direction nor slowing down, its speed pushed to the limit—as if flying toward a cold, hopeless abyss. Even the glow of dusk shining into the cabin could not dispel the heaviness, nor pierce the air of grim resolve.
There was oppression. There was hesitation. There was regret.
There was sorrow. There was loneliness. There was silence.
All these emotions, every thought, ultimately transformed into a soaring, tragic momentum—a faith that abandoned reason, infusing their hearts with unbreakable will, and flooding their bodies with strength to shake mountains and rivers.
"I have a dream."
"I wish for the land of Sinovera to be free of Demon calamities, free of Specter rampage, free of the deaths of our human kin."
"I wish for brilliant light to shine upon the world, for hope and happiness to fill the earth, for peace and stability to become the theme of our society."
"Today, I have let you down."
"Andrew Han can leave, but we cannot go down. I am sorry, truly sorry. I, Warren Wang, have failed you... After this battle, if any of you survive, please keep living—live well."
His voice was low, with no change in pitch.
Yet it was precisely this mechanical, recited voice that carried indescribable emotion, brewing a belief beyond words.
It was dusk. Radiance shone upon the earth, and the sound of rumbling could faintly be heard.